


Floating flocks of candled swans

by unfortunatelystillstuckin200



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anorexia, Anxiety, Depression, Eating Disorders, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, IT'S GAY, M/M, My Chem, Self Harm, everyone is sad, he tries his best to not bother anyone, i love projecting my problems onto my favorite people, major trigger warning, mikey is sad, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18010544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunatelystillstuckin200/pseuds/unfortunatelystillstuckin200
Summary: mikey is sad. he doesn't want to tell anyone.





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> this is really bad, but I'm trying my best.  
> \- CW for just about everything

It’s cold out, but Mikey can’t handle being on the bus right now. Not with everyone else being drunk. He’s been sober for a few days, trying his hardest, but it seems like the rest of the guys are trying their best to make his life hard. Normally, he’d call Pete, let himself cry as he listens to Pete’s voice through the phone. But not tonight. They had a fight yesterday, and Mikey doesn’t know if Pete has forgiven him yet, and he really cannot cope with someone being mad at him right now. There’s just too many emotions already, and hearing Pete scream at him would tip it all over the edge. 

So he sits down under a big cork tree, he found it yesterday, when he was taking a walk in the middle of the night, and he almost laughs at the irony, but he’s too sad too actually muster up even the smallest of smiles. His breath leaves his lungs as thin white smoke into the midnight air, and it makes him feel safe. He remembers all the nights he and Pete had spent together, watching the stars, and before that, all the sleepless nights with Gerard, running around screaming song lyrics and hiding from their parents in the woods. In a way, he wants to go back to those times, everything was so simple, so easy. Now he has to go on stage in front of thousands of people every night, he has to pretend to be fine for hours on end, and he can only let his emotionless mask drop when he’s in his bunk as everyone else sleeps. He has to hide his shaky sobs and trembling lips. But he’s alone now.

the tears that have been stinging in his eyes finally fall. He’s shaking, thinking about everything and nothing, crying into the darkness. No one notices. As usual. 

His fingers find their way to the sleeves of the hoodie he’s wearing, quickly moving over old scars until they get to the most recent one. They start ripping it open again, without mercy. 

His hands aren’t cold anymore, now that they’re covered blood. The wrecked sobs he’s letting out seems to echo around him, and every sound is driving him insane. His cellphone rings, at that exact moment, and he doesn’t even look at the caller ID before throwing it away. The sound of the ringing doesn’t stop though. He slams his hands over his ears, and rocks back and forth. 

He wants Pete, or Gerard, or ray, or anyone. He can’t do this alone. The grass underneath him is digging into his ankle where his pants have rolled up to expose his skin. He doesn't even know if the cut is still bleeding, and he doesn't care. He wishes he had brought his razors, but they’re hidden in his bunk. His hands move from his ears to his hair, ad he pulls on it. It hurts, but not enough. So he digs his nails into his scalp, not even noticing how his breath has started to come out in small white puffs. It’s impossible to breathe and even though he rationally knows that he’s experiencing a panic attack, it feels like he’s dying. 

He wants to call Gerard. But his vision is blurry and his phone is somewhere on the ground, and shakily, he brings his hands up in front of his face, they’re bloody and there are strands of hair stuck in the sticky red mess. He’s too tired, too sad. 

He lays down on the ground, looking up to the stars, but he can’t see anything but the tree, and he’s too exhausted to move. He wants someone to find him, he wants his brothers affection, Pete's kisses or rays motherly comments about how he has to take care of himself. He slowly grips his left arm, and the black hoodie is drenched in his own blood. He feels disgusted. Not because of the blood, but because of how fat he is. His fingers barely reach around his arm, and he can feel the fat jiggling when he moves it. 

He feels nauseous and goes through every meal he’s had today. No breakfast, chips for lunch, and salad for dinner. Way too much. Too many calories. He needs to punish himself.


	2. Chapter two: the grass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guyyys, i'm sorry this took literally six months. but i'm back and i'm planning on updating this more, and not every half a year. so that being said: enjoy this thing that i wrote instead of doing my schoolwork :)

As long as he can remember, mikey has been a quiet person. As a kid he feared asking for help in class or with his homework. He never had any real friends, since no one wanted to talk to the outcast. The only person he ever spoke to was Gerard. They were very close during their entire childhood, and they understood each other in ways no one else did. The brothers spent long nights under the covers of gerards bed, and it wasn't unusual that mikey fell asleep in his brother's arms. 

He misses those days, feeling safe and comfortable next to his big brother. Now, he feels distant, and mikey knows that Gerard has other friends now. They’re not just them against the world anymore. And it hurts.

That’s why he doesn’t go to his brother when things are shit again. He also knows that Gerard is struggling with getting sober, and he doesn’t want to ruin everything with his own alcohol-drowned issues. 

Even when breathing is hard and he isn’t sure where the blood is from, he just keeps to himself. He isn’t sure how much time has passed since he left the bus, but he knows he can’t go back in this state. They’ll worry about him, and in the worst case they’ll send him back to rehab. He fucking hates rehab. 

So he lays on the cold grass, staring up at the leaves of the tree, trying to control his own breathing. He can’t help but to keep thinking about all the food he’s had, and his stomach turns inside him. Suddenly he’s on his knees, heaving. Nothing comes up but saliva, and it makes him feel even worse. He’s never been able to properly purge, but this wasn’t a purge, this was his body trying to reject the horrible disgusting things he’s stuffed his mouth with, and failing.

His heart is beating out of his chest, but he needs to go clean up. He stands up on shaky legs, and walks towards the community bathrooms. The one on the bus is somehow cleaner, but he cannot risk being seen like this. Luckily the big parking lot full of buses and vans are empty for once, and mikey suspects a party going on somewhere. He’s feeling dizzy, and still nauseous. He’s thankful that no one is here to see him stumble to the public bathrooms, hands covered in blood and chunks of hair.

He wonders if people would think he was a murderer if they saw him, and comes to the conclusion that they probably would. He looks through a few stalls before finding one with a relatively small amount of piss on the floor. Seeing himself in the mirror is weird, his hair is fucked up and his clothes are dirty. He soaks a few paper towels with water, and uses them to wash away the dirt-mixed blood of his hands and face. His hands are shaking as he pulls up the sleeves to expose his disgusting bloody arms. 

The cuts he ripped open has stopped bleeding, thankfully, so he carefully drags the wet paper towel over them, cleaning off as much of the dried blood he can. He doesn’t bother cleaning off the cuts on his ankle, because no one will see it after all.  
He wants to call pete, but his phone is still somewhere on the ground under the big looming cork tree he sat under, and he doesn’t have the courage to go to the fall out bus, as pete calls it. Instead he just goes out and sits down next to the bathroom. He’s exhausted, and he feels like screaming into the void, all he really wants is to be in pete’s or gerards arms. But he doesn’t even have the energy to walk back to his own bus. 

Suddenly sleeping right there and then seems like a great idea. He’ll wake up long before his show, and it’s not unusual to see people passed out on the ground after a night of partying, so no one will think twice about it. So mikey curls up in a ball, slightly cold, now that the adrenaline from his panic attack has worn off. He pulls his knees to his chest and tries to relax. It’s harder to fall asleep than he thought it would be. The grass digs into his skin, making everything itch, and the lights and smell from the bathroom right beside him makes him feel even worse.

He wants to go to his own bunk, feel the warmth of the covers and hear the snores of his bandmates and his brother. But standing up is too much effort, and he has just enough dignity to not crawl through the parking lot. So he stays in the annoying grass, trying to hide his face in the hoodie he’s wearing to escape the stench and light. 

He lays there for what he believes is hours (but could very well be just a few minutes) before falling asleep to the surring of the fluorescent lights in the bathrooms.


End file.
